A Monday morning in Brooklyn

I went to bed early enough after reading that I was actually well rested when I woke. One of the cats was batting at my feet under the covers, gripping the sides of my toes, gentle enough that no claws dug in.

I jumped into my jeans and sweater to walk with my spouse to the bagel shop, since we’re out of yogurt for his usual morning breakfast. We’re also out of milk, so many of my home coffee preparations were out. This way I get a few extra minutes to say hello since I’ve been drowsy all morning.

We hold hands and regret not wearing sunglasses. It’s bright and a crossing guard helps caution us as we skitter across the end of our busy block. Two dogs are walking the street with a woman who is chatting to them, one speckled part dalmatian.

We part ways just before my café of choice. We stop in front of a vacant store front for a long kiss and so I can wish a positive happy week since we have separate evenings planned.

There’s no queue in the shop and I order a large latte, regular milk from the gregarious woman who is always there on Mondays. I absently slide my card into the chip reader and over my rewards slip for a punch. She voids the transaction and gently explains to still-drowsy-me that I’ve gotten to my free drink. The man pulling the shots from the machine is nearly done by the end of my confusion and tops the cup to the brim. I bend over to slurp enough to get the lid on. He chuckles and says he hopes I have a positive week. I always try to make it here on Mondays because they do set my mood down the right path. As I walk out, the woman at the counter slips easily into “¿que pasa?” with the next customer.

It goes so quickly I have time to pop into the bagel shop where Jason is still waiting, make some conversation, appreciate the nice cashier instead of our usual grump. We share another smooch before he hops down the steps, since the last one worked out so nicely too. After he’s downstairs, I turn to cross the street.

Two women are laughing so hard they’re bent over.
“You’re gonna be late, bitch!”
“Nah, I’m not late till it’s 8:45, you think you can get rid of me that easy?”

I appreciate the extra blocks and reflect that I should really make it outside more often. I feel warmth just below the edge where you’d break a sweat.

A corgi waddles across the wide avenue. I reach for my pocket to take a picture for a friend who would be grateful and realize I don’t have my phone, which makes me grateful.

A crossing guard coos at a mother and baby walking by, who clearly walk by every morning, a blocky book raised from the stroller. She asks the child if she knows all her fruits. All three giggle.

Two cars end up yielding for me to cross back at my busy block.

I wasn’t catcalled once on the walk (something that I don’t want to feel appreciative of but acknowledge I am).

I trot up both flights of stairs, popping my shoes off on our top floor landing.

Inside, the place is clean from an effective weekend. There’s a muffin waiting on the table that I bought on Saturday and need to remember as for breakfast. I’m toasty so I peel off the sweater in exchange for a t-shirt and knot my hair on top of my head. I decide to slide the windows open for a little to get fresh air inside. A cat perches on the sill, drawing in the crisp feel.

There’s even enough time to write a post before I start work.